Miss you poet Ali, homeless, exile.

Never met you the person, but met the poet

of Kashmir, pain, and loss.

Yearning for a time and a place that never could be;

never, be mine again.

Miss you Lahore pre-forty-seven.

Never been there, in person, but felt you through

pages on you with ink of pain and stylus of loss,

in the land of Punjab, times bright that never could be;

never, be yours again.

Miss you olden times on sepia: black and white.

Never lived then, when you were in full bloom

had colors that never can never return, come back to

that land of romance, escape, that never could be;

never, be ours again.

Never met you but miss you Shahid Ali.

Never been there but miss you Lahore.

Never lived then but miss you old times.

                                                                                    ~Rajnish Mishra

                                                                                       Varanasi, India